A/N: Thanks to jsq for the brainstorming I plan to use in future chapters. A couple reviews might've escaped my reply last time, like Ficalicious who had the private message feature disabled. I didn't mean to skip you, and thanks for commenting!

Part 21

By the end of Brennan's first week at home, things were starting to get easier.

Now that the stitches had been removed, she felt less discomfort around her wound. She still needed to examine it, on days she didn't go to the hospital, for any changes that could signal problems. She noticed that the medial half of the incision had sealed itself better than the lateral portion, which looked a bit messy. But the nurses were satisfied with the rate of healing. They had also provided gauze dressings and waterproof covers, so Brennan could finally take a shower. That first day standing under the warm spray, water flooding down her skin and hair, had felt like heaven.

Each day she could walk slightly farther, if not faster. At the beginning of her second week, she started with physical therapy. The gentle resistance exercises told her how weak and limited her body still was. And while she had to avoid anything that would engage her core muscles, the activity felt good.

Brennan had to postpone the next PT session, however, because of abdominal pain that developed one evening. Angela was staying with her that night—which was also when Booth happened to call. Brennan sat curled on the couch when Angela brought her the phone.

It took him about two minutes to sense something wasn't right. "Are you okay, Bones?"

"Yes." She sighed. "No. I'm experiencing some discomfort. It's most likely a buildup of gas or fluid in the abdomen. Not uncommon after surgery. Angela's making peppermint tea, which is supposed to help."

"You're in pain, though?"

"Some."

He urged her to get checked at the hospital, just in case. "How sure are you about what's causing it?"

"Relatively sure. I will go, if it doesn't get any better."

"You sound like me when I had that toothache. And it only got better because someone socked me in the jaw and knocked it out."

"There won't be much that doctors can do," Brennan pointed out. "Just wait and allow the body to go through its natural healing process."

"Well… Promise me you won't ignore it if it gets worse."

"I promise."

Angela had come into the living room to hand Brennan a mug of hot tea, relieving her of the phone in the same motion. "Don't worry, Booth, I'm not going to let her suffer in silence. One phone call and Hodgins will be here in his fastest car. We can be at the hospital in five minutes."

Booth said something that made her smile, before she gave the phone back to Brennan.

"So, Bones, do you want me to distract you with talk about crime and punishment?"

"Please do."

"It looks like someone dug up an old murder victim, but the two of us are missing out. Hacker put Perotta on the case. She might take Wendall out in the field, if she has to take anyone." He paused. "Perotta and Wendall. Just doesn't have the same ring as Booth and Brennan, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." Then, feeling she needed to say something else, she asked if Cam would send her scans of the victim's remains. "Just because I'm confined to my home doesn't mean I can't be of some assistance. But why doesn't Andrew want you on the case?"

He hesitated. "Hacker and Sweets have decided that I need counseling before I go back to solving murders. Even if I didn't do anything wrong that they can document… and even if I'm not sure I want to. They're going to require you to go, too. Anything big happens on the job, you have to spend time with the Bureau shrink."

Brennan would have to ask him about I'm not sure I want to. Instead she said, "So Sweets does have a professional reason for pestering us with phone calls."

"Yeah. But I don't think we're required to go to him, just someone."

"Wouldn't he be offended if we chose someone else?"

"Probably. Hey, that's nice of you, Bones. I think you have a secret soft spot for the kid."

"Well, if I do, then you do."

"We might as well go to him," Booth said with exaggerated reluctance. "Separately, to begin with—they weren't clear about that. Besides, Gordon Gordon is off in Europe cooking for a duke or someone."

"He is a chef now, not a psychologist."

"So he keeps telling us. Hey, do you want me to remind Cam to send you the victim's x-rays? She said she wants to keep your brain happy… and I'd like to help."

"Yes, thank you."

"Wendall and Perotta." It sounded like he was shaking his head. "How much do you wanna bet, they're not going to solve it without us?"

"Booth, we shouldn't gamble on something like that." Despite the doubts they both seemed to share about murder cases, Brennan couldn't help laughing at the deliberate arrogance in his tone. "You're right. They don't have years of successful partnership behind them."

"I'll let you get some rest," Booth said, "but I want to talk to Angela for a minute, okay?"

Brennan handed over the phone. Booth must still have been worried, because Angela listened and replied, "I won't. …I'm taking good care of her. As good as you would. …Does that mean I've forgiven you? Yeah, I guess I have. As long as you keep on not screwing this up."

-.-.-.-.

The next morning, Booth and Hank appeared on Brennan's doorstep.

Angela let them in, while Brennan nibbled on toast in the kitchen. She hadn't been able to eat much, and hadn't slept well, either. The pain never got worse, but was uncomfortable enough to prevent her from real rest.

Now she heard Booth quizzing Angela about her well being. "She says she's okay," the artist answered. "'Pain is staying within tolerable levels.' But you can ask her yourself. I've gotta go, Bren. I'll call you later."

The door closed behind her, and the two men came into the kitchen.

"I just wanted to check on you before I went to work," Booth explained.

"And I thought I'd spend a little more time here," Hank said. "I have to go back to the retirement place pretty soon. So I figured…" He held up a wooden box of dominoes. "I'd teach you how to kick Seeley's ass, for the next time."

She smiled, and told Hank he was welcome to stay with her.

Before Booth left, he fixed both of them with a stern look. "Remember what I said, Pops? You call me—either of you—if you need anything."

"I know, I know." Hank rolled his eyes at Brennan. "The kid's like a mother hen sometimes."

Later, the two of them went out for a walk. It was cold and drizzling, so they stayed on the sidewalks and courtyard near her apartment.

"I don't believe it," Hank said. "I'm old, but I have to slow down for you." He eyed her, while shoving his hands in his pockets to warm them. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"The pain is still there, but I think walking helps a little. I am slower than I was the other day."

"Well." Hank patted her arm. "Pretty soon you'll be back to full strength, and then you can run circles around me as fast as Parker."

Max called to check on her at lunch time, and in the afternoon she and Hank both took naps in the living room. She must have dozed longer than he did, because she woke to find him watching her.

He sat on a nearby chair holding his jacket. A science journal rested on his lap, but he wasn't reading it. Brennan thought his expression seemed… soft. And perceptive, like he was thinking a lot more than he was saying. "I didn't want to cut out while you were asleep. But I should get moving." Hank pushed himself to his feet. "Need to pick up some food before I meet Shrimp at work. Then we're going to his gym, so I can prove to the youngsters I'm not dead yet.

"Now, are you okay for the night? Your dad's coming?"

Brennan nodded. "Thank you, Hank." She watched him walk to the door. He wore a pale blue cardigan that Angela said was part of the "standard old person wardrobe."

Hank was zipping his coat when she called him again. She didn't know she was going to say it until that moment. "I never knew my grandparents. But I'm very glad to have you. And—I'm finally taking your advice. I mean, I'm not going to wait, or have regrets. You told me, don't be afraid, and I'm not, anymore." His eyes studied her with a canny gleam. "Well… I am afraid. But—I'm going to tell Booth. And ask him. I need the truth, even if it's going to hurt."

"Well, that's good." Hank sounded gruff, but his gaze was gentle. "I don't think it will hurt. You trust me on this. I think you've already been through the worst." He tipped his head down to indicate her injury. But she didn't think he meant the physical kind.

-.-.-.-.

That night, Brennan had a memorable dream.

It was very different from the scenes she'd been experiencing. These recurred once or twice a week, with slight variations. Each time, she was back in that barn, with someone she couldn't save. Ingrid, or Michelle. Once, Angela. They were tied, crying with fear, while Dawes threatened. Brennan tried to fight or shoot, but found herself bleeding, helpless.

But the worst was when she wasn't alone. The last time, Booth appeared in the dream. He preceded her into the barn, and she knew that logically, Booth should go first. He was an excellent shot. He would take the criminal down, and everyone would be safe.

But that's not what she knew would happen. Dawes was going to shoot someone, and Booth could not go first. Brennan had to warn him, had to stop him. But the next thing she knew, he was falling. She hurried to catch him, tripping over something like the edge of a stage, but it was too late. Booth sprawled on the ground and she fell next to him; his blood welled under her fingers and she couldn't slow it. She had to keep him here, with her. "Booth… Booth!" She could hear both their breath, gasping. They were alone, no help was coming, and she couldn't watch this happen again.

Brennan would wake in a panic, her side aching from the increased respiration. Booth is fine, she would tell herself. He's safe, and he's going to stay that way. She just wished she could believe it.

Tonight, the dream was different. No barn, and no danger. Just Booth.

She stood in a grassy field lined with trees. She didn't know where she'd come from or where she was going, but it didn't matter. Booth walked up to meet her through the tall grass, and took her hand. He smiled, and so did she, and then they were running together. The sky was blue overhead and the grass brushed her legs and she thought with wonder, I'm running. I'm running and nothing hurts. This must be a dream, then. I should enjoy it while it lasts.

She could move freely for the first time. No limit, no pain cinching her muscles. Just lightness and freedom.

Freedom, and Booth, and running. With the green leaves of trees, and the golden seed heads of rippling grass. They ran together through the field, and there was nothing to fear or misunderstand.

Just Booth beside her, laughing.

Brennan woke with tears on her face. She stared into the darkness, feeling her heart beating hard, her chest full of emotion.

The possibilities this dream offered—they stunned her. She longed for them.

Ever since she'd woken up in the hospital, she had seen evidence of Booth's feelings. Evidence that he cared about her. But was it the way he cared for someone like Cam, once the flush of romance was ended? Was it that love for an old friend and colleague… or something more intense?

There was one way to find out.

She was right, to tell Hank she wouldn't wait anymore. Brennan snuggled deeper under the covers, taking a breath as if in relief.

She would talk to Booth. This week.